


Presence

by Nebulad



Series: Stargazers [5]
Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Other, Pre-Relationship, post-Volfred spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: Sandalwood informs the team that the Reader will not be joining them in the Commonwealth; they take it about as well as you'd expect. Guilt nearly overwhelms Hedwyn as his plans for the future crumble around him, so he does the only thing he knows how: he hopes for the best.





	Presence

The woods were spectacularly dense, even in the clearing where they’d managed to park the wagon while they waited to take on the Chastity. They had hours to fill, which everyone was doing admirably— except the Reader, of course, who was staring out at the thicket of the forest. They were still close enough to the Flamelake for the heat to linger in the air, but they sat curled in their cloak regardless.

Night would fall, but the time trod forward in slow, heavy steps. Their next Rite— the Reader’s opportunity to prove that they were more than capable at the helm of the metaphorical ship (less so the literal ship), and they could barely bring themself to stretch out their wooden legs (a joke, of sorts: one was wooden, while the other just felt like it with so little circulation).

 _Readers such as yourself cannot go free_ , Volfred had said. A low note rung throughout their ribs, like the deepest bass Tariq could muster on his lute; and it wasn’t the Downside. The place was harsh and devoured whole those who couldn’t care for themselves— but it wasn’t so bad, _now._ It was sinister and it wanted so much from the individual life, but the darkest part of the place was only viewed when you went it alone. With the wagon, the Reader felt… better equipped. Safer. Soon, they would be alone again.

And of course, Volfred had so casually announced it. _Let there be no secrets between Nightwings, this time around,_ he’d declared, and then told the curious eyes in front of him about their Reader’s fate. They didn’t know _why,_ unless he meant to somehow imply that keeping them around was a futile cruelty even if they did end up being useful in the Rites— or maybe he was being honest when he said he didn’t believe in secrets between team mates.

Rhae had rushed off somewhere, whether to cry or pray being anyone’s guess; Gilman had followed after her, whether to guard her against harm or cry being anyone’s guess. Pamitha had grabbed the neck of her moonshine and disappeared, with Rukey hot on her heels. Ti’zo rolled over in his nest while Tariq plucked a quiet ballad to ward off the slowness of the evening. Hedwyn was stricken by the news, and all but paralysed in his spot by the pots and pans. They hadn’t seen where he and Jodariel had run off to, too busy glaring at Sandalwood to keep an eye out for them.

 _Why did you have to say it?_ they’d all but shouted, their rusted voice hissing from their broken-pipe throat. It achieved nothing but despair, and the loss of hope in the room was tangible; the Reader had already fucking _agreed_ to stay on, even knowing that the Downside was their home until their inevitable, helpless demise.

 _Your comrades should know what you’re sacrificing for their sakes._ It all came down to the Plan, they knew; Sandalwood could dress it up all he wanted, but by planting the seed of guilt into the eligible wagon members, he ensured that their support for the cause would be driven by the Reader’s memory. He _martyred_ them without permission.

So they retreated and sat alone, wondering if everyone would be back in time to meet the Chastity on the field— and what sort of shape they’d be in should they arrive in time. Reading was more difficult when the others had clouded minds, because their turmoil rang through the Reader like a bell. They couldn’t show Sandalwood what they’d become in his distinct absence if everyone’s thoughts moved as slowly as time seemed to, sitting alone as they were.

A taste of what was to come, certainly.

. . . . .

To find Hedwyn, Jodariel simply had to think like him; and so where would she go, if she were him and had just learned that his promise to the Reader was broken as soon as he’d made it? She grimaced to herself and continued forward through the underbrush. It seemed profoundly unfair that they should be trapped, alone. _Alone_ was the worst part— the Downside was nearly bearable with company, but to be forced to traverse it by oneself was the ultimate test in physical strength.

Their reading meant very little against the threat of being torn apart by—

She scowled even deeper, and impulsively looked up. He’d always been inclined to heights, giving her no end of grief during his childhood. Harps were built to fly— young boys were not. As anticipated, he was perched in a tree with his eyes screwed shut like he could will away reality with the force of his hope. Still the same boy she’d left in the Commonwealth— Scribes, he didn’t even know she’d found him.

“Hedwyn.” She’d tried to sound less exasperated, given the reason he’d rushed away, but _the trees? After all this time, you still haven’t learned to keep your feet on solid ground?_

He jolted, nearly swaying right from his perch— luckily, he caught himself in time. “Oh, hello Jodi. I’m just—” He stopped abruptly because it was fairly obvious what he was doing, or what he _had_ been doing before she found him. His voice was still wet with tears, one part frustration while the rest wrestled with misery; the Reader was a kindred spirit in the darkness of the Downside. They weren’t nearly as outgoing or soft-spoken as he was, but something in their soul hearkened to him.

He would lose them as surely as they would lose him.

“You shouldn’t wander this far from the wagon. Night will fall soon, and they’ll want you on the field.” They always did, after all— it was easier, she assumed. There was none of the hesitance that tossed and churned in her own mind, nor the sometimes scattered, halting, uncertain thoughts of the others. It’d been so from the start, and no new member to their wagon fought without him at their side.

“All so we can find our Liberation Rite under some such star.” He tilted his head back as if he would personally divine their next destination, his puffy eyes only half open against the dimness of the setting sun. Daytime seemed so transitory since they began their journey; usually they were all asleep, to train themselves to be more alert during the late hours.

“It’s what they want— Sandalwood said as much.” At some point he certainly had, before the argument had broken out. The Reader hadn’t wanted any of them to know that they were trapped, unable to participate in the Rites wholly enough to earn their freedom. The system had been built against them, seemingly by the Eight themselves: but why? Where was their lauded pity? Their mercy? “Come down here,” she continued, gently now. “You’re making me nervous.”

He did as he was bade, but slouched and fought to try and seem more composed than he was. “I just keep wondering…. what else can go wrong?” He looked up at her as if she had some insight into the situation, but she was as helpless and angry as he was. “First we have to fight one-by-one to free us all, and now it turns out that despite all their work towards _our_ freedom, the Reader is stuck in the Downside no matter who wins or loses. What else is he keeping from us?”

“He needed a Reader to bring us to him.” Far from defending Sandalwood’s position, Jodariel sought to make clear what Hedwyn was protesting. Futile anger had no direction and became internally destructive— Scribes knew he needed no help blaming himself.

“And then he meant to send them away.” He shook his head incredulously. “As if none of us would protest! To dismiss them with a handful of coin…”

“He thought we needed _him_ to tap into our true potential.” The Reader did an admirable job long before any of them had even seriously wondered about their absent benefactor. He’d haunted the wagon through Tariq’s scattered stories, but his presence was lost against the Reader’s steady, quiet aura that had been _physical_ and _binding._ Rhae became less scattered around them, benefitting from the occasional finishing of a sentence or reminding of a word she needed. The tension Rukey carried from a thousand bad partners and crooked deals drained into the ground while they were there to light a fire for him. Jodariel couldn’t deny the soothing effect on even herself…

Hedwyn, of course, benefitted the most. The simple joy of honest reciprocation warmed something that threatened to turn cold in the Downside— she wondered, honestly, if either of them saw what easy magic worked when they were together.

Their own business, of course, but Jodariel wouldn’t deny she was biased. “We didn’t,” he defended ferociously. “And now he jabs at them to see what they can stand, and I just…” He made a noise between a grunt and a growl. “I wish there was something I could say to make up for what they tolerate on our behalf.”

“There might be nothing,” Jodariel said gravely. “But I think you’ll try anyway.” Knowing him, he wouldn’t be able to resist. He stared at her for a second, as if baffled that even sixteen years later she could so easily dissect him; a small smile beat out the fresh tears that he batted away, half annoyed.

“Of course I will.” Even if his support meant only relying on his blind hope that the Scribes would give him some compromise by the end, it was meaningful; even if hope was lost and his only course of action was to curse the rotten luck of the world with them, it would be equally so.

. . . . .

While Jodariel prepared for the Rites that night, she saw Hedwyn lead the Reader into the wagon chattering amiably about nothing. In true Hedwyn fashion, he’d gone with hope before commiseration; she could see that the Reader didn’t entirely buy any of it, but they laughed at some joke or another while he beamed.

Perhaps it was neither his hope nor his comradery that endeared him to the Reader, Jodariel mused idly while she finished tying her robes. Beyond his blind faith that the world must be fair… perhaps simply being there meant more to their poor Reader than whatever mindset he was in by the end of it.

**Author's Note:**

> [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) and it's where my [commissions post lives.](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com/post/162182264019/writing-commissions) Can you believe that I don't have that whole thing goddamn saved somewhere? I manually type out two entire URLs every single fucking time, this is the least efficient system.
> 
> Anyway, idk yall. Can you imagine though, Hedwyn literally moved to goddamn tears? Damn yall. Idk if I like how I write Jodariel still because I let her go fairly soon in my first playthrough and haven't interacted with her _a whole lot_ but like, some sort of mix of not quite team mom but Big Buff Team Softie. Hedwyn is most definitely team parental figure.


End file.
